


Paint

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Paint Kink, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:29:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the kink meme: An old turian tradition features the woman painting herself with her intended mate's markings, plus some added colors and symbols for contrast. Garrus revives this old ritual with Shepard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint

It started off as half a joke, really. Garrus said a lot of stupid things in the aftermath of fantastic sex.  
  
He knew he couldn't use that as a crutch, since he said a lot of stupid things whether sex was involved or not, but sometimes it made it easier to live with himself.  
  
She liked to trace the line of his markings when they laid in bed together afterward, her fingers gently following the pattern across his nose, over his cheek. He'd closed his eyes, enjoying her touch, flicking a mandible out to tickle her palm when it got close. She'd laughed, snatching her hand back.  
  
"I've always liked these," she'd said, smile in her voice.  
  
"Wouldn't mind seeing them on you," he'd thoughtlessly replied—intending to tease, but his voice had emerged serious and warm, giving him away.  
  
The implications were sort of serious for two people who had a hard time defining things like  _relationships—_ not to mention completely outdated—but when he'd cracked one eye open to survey the damage, she'd only looked thoughtful.  
  
"That'd be a sight to see," she'd agreed. "I'll pick up some paint next time we're on the Citadel, if you want."  
  
And now they were back in her cabin, little pots of paint open on her nightstand, an entire evening and night ahead of them—and her squirming impatiently beneath him, wearing only a thin robe.  
  
"Impatient, are we?" he teased, leaning over to dip a brush in the pot containing vivid green paint.  
  
She wriggled her hips again, cocking one eyebrow. "Wouldn't want to make it easy for you."  
  
Rather than reply, he twined his fingers in her hair and held her head gently still, painting a single line from her bottom lip, over her chin, down her throat, to the hollow of her collarbone. By the time the paint pooled in a thick, perfect dot at the end of the line, she wasn't squirming anymore.  
  
"I thought you were going to paint your markings," she said. If he wasn't mistaken, she sounded a little disappointed—but still breathless from the effect the brush had had on her skin.  
  
"We'll get there," he reassured, rinsing the brush and choosing a bright purple this time. "Turian women, they used to really go all out. You needed more than just  _his_  markings to catch a guy's attention." He painted a line across the jut of her left collarbone, right to her shoulder; he worked the robe down to her bicep to bare the skin he needed. She held her breath, keeping still for him while he worked. "Bright colors, important symbols that advertised who she was."  
  
Shepard tipped her head, just a bit, to examine the short dashes he painted on either side of the purple line. "What does that mean?"  
  
"It means you forget to stand in cover when you get too excited during a fight." She snorted, amused despite the insult, and he chuckled, catching her hand before she could whap him in the chest. "Kidding. It means  _protector_." He painted the mirror of that line on the other side of her body. She watched him now, quiet, considering, but he didn't look her in the face.

He painted more symbols on her sternum, her jaw, her forehead—a red wave with intricate dots for  _soldier_ , a green series of interlocked angles for  _friend_. He painted, and when there was just enough room left, he took up the blue pot.  
  
She closed her eyes while he traced the familiar lines over her nose, her cheekbones, down and into the hollow of her cheeks. They didn't look the same on a human face, but, regardless...  
  
For a long moment, when the designs were done, he stared down at her, watching the paint dry. Her eyes were on his face again, but his traced the stark geometric pattern of  _Vakarian_  on her skin, and he felt—  
  
"Well?" she prompted finally. "How do I look?"  
  
He leaned down, tapped his forehead to hers. "Perfect," he murmured, and suddenly he had to have her, a desire so fierce that he felt blindsided by its arrival.   
  
His hands divested her of the robe, tugged the tie at her waist open, closed around her sometimes-scarred, still-soft skin. She sighed at the touch, a long breath out. He rearranged their bodies, nudging her thighs open with his knees, and put the pad of his thumb to work in her folds.  
  
It didn't take long. She was already wet, breathing shallowly, her back slightly arched against the mattress, her body pushing into his touch, brow furrowed. "Garrus," she gasped. Her leg hooked up around the spur of his hip, pulling him closer, the soft skin of her inner thigh rubbing against his waist. "Garrus,  _please—_ "  
  
He hitched her leg up, a little higher, held in place by his arm—his fist clenching in her sheet—and pressed into her, slowly, so slowly, opening her around him. She groaned, arching up to meet him. He loved her like this—head thrown back, jaw taut, fingers scrambling for purchase beneath his fringe, dragging him bodily closer, and the blue paint on her cheekbones? That was just a bonus. An unexpected, fantastic bonus.  
  
He thrust more quickly now, thumb pressing in smooth circles above their joining. She was close; he could feel the flutter of her around him, tightening, tightening, and then—"Garrus," she choked out, bucked up against him, and he was coming, emptying himself into her with a few last erratic thrusts.  
  
When she twitched, one last time, and fell still, he dropped down to the mattress beside her, wrapping an arm around her to pull her against him. She followed the tug of his limbs, letting out a contented sigh.  
  
"Really got you going, didn't it?" she murmured, sleepy but sly.  
  
He laughed, too spent to deflect. "Guess it did," he said, tracing a blunted claw over the blue on her cheeks.  
  
"I hope this washes off easily enough," she said, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Can only imagine what Hackett will say next time I get him on vid comm otherwise."  
  
"Forget Hackett," Garrus chuckled. "Think of  _Joker_."  
  
She groaned, playfully smacking his cowl, no real force behind the hit. "You're a menace."  
  
"The worst," he agreed, nuzzling her hair.


End file.
